


Clarity

by OpalSkyLoveDivine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, ILY scene, Post- ILY, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalSkyLoveDivine/pseuds/OpalSkyLoveDivine
Summary: What happens when the words can't be unsaid? For Molly it was the line of demarcation. For Sherlock it was something different. But the Consulting Detective is never predictable, so when lightning strikes, will revelation bring them together or tear them apart?





	1. Verge

The instant she heard the click, her eyes grew wide. 

 

She let out a high-pitched growl and hurled the phone into the next room with an explosive fury. It shattered against the opposite wall, falling in bits onto the sofa. 

 

_If Toby had been alive he’d be extremely put out right now._

 

She choked out a bitter chuckle as the random thought drifted away and her brain began to sluggishly process what happened moments before.

 

She walked stiffly from behind her kitchen island into the sitting room. Her thoughts seemed to fragment from one second to the next, flashing and buffering the conversation she just had with the last person she wanted to talk to, on this day of all days.

 

Molly stood looking down at the carnage that was once her mobile. Her face was damp from angry tears, but her eyes were dry now and completely expressionless. She felt totally drained; as if the brief out-burst left her numb and disconnected.

 

_For the moment numb is good_ , she figured, drying her cheeks with the back of her hand as she slowly bent over to gather the pieces of her phone and placing them on the counter behind her.

 

She stared at them blankly, sniffling on and off as her brain began to deliberate what her next move would be. 

 

A line had been crossed.

 

For a couple of years her friendship with Sherlock Holmes had developed some unspoken ‘boundaries’. She was careful to confine her undying (and she tried her best to kill it)love for him…always on guard to keep up the pretense of having ‘moved on’. But knowing in her heart of hearts that _he_ wasn’t fooled. It became their normal. And on his end there was an effort to be more considerate of her feelings. He rarely made any deductions, at least not out loud. There was a safety zone, a perimeter that was based on mutual respect and even admiration.

 

At least there _was_.

 

She inhaled and released a shuttering sigh, her hands idly fingered the smithereens, still exhibiting a slight shake.

 

Her neutral expression began to cloud as she rehashed the strange conversation…strange even for the unconventional detective. Something needled her sub-consciousness. It wasn’t necessarily the galling request he demanded from her, nor his unyielding demeanor. 

 

But Molly knew him well and there was something _off_ , as if he were trying to hide… _something._

 

Her brow knitted slightly from the thought. And there was more, a semblance of… _desperation_ almost…

 

Then of course, the words themselves. The words uttered from _both_ of them. She felt a twinge of petty triumph mixed with disgust at her demand for him to say it first.

_Say it like you mean it._

 

She remembered the rush she felt when she heard his distinctive baritone utter the words she had always dreamed he’d say to her…but never… _ever_ …expected.

 

_I…love you._

 

But she _made_ him say it. Her mind replayed that torturous moment that felt like an eternity.

 

Then… the _needling_ returned. How was she even _able_ to make him do that? It made no sense. And why did he say it _twice_? Her stomach flipped as she recalled hearing those words a second time. _If_ she hadn’t known the man so bloody well, she’d have sworn it was sincere.

 

Her weary eyes closed and she rubbed her now throbbing forehead. 

 

The 10th year since her dad’s passing hit her hard when she woke up that morning. With a heavy heart she sat on her bed, reading through a stack of letters that he wrote during her Uni years. She laughed and cried a little, determined to honor him in her thoughts that day, although after an hour her head began to ache slightly, accompanied by a deep sense of loneliness. Giving herself a break, she shuffled into the kitchen for a hot cuppa. 

 

That’s when her phone rang.

 

Her tepid tea and lemon now mocking her, she pushed away from the counter and wandered into the bedroom. Molly threw herself face down into her unmade bed and just laid there. Reeling from her oppressive thoughts and questions she buried her head under her pillow.

 

_This has to stop. I can’t do this anymore._

 

And with that, her brain mercifully listened and she fell off into a deep dreamless sleep.


	2. Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to offer public apologies to the awesome Writingwife83, who has graciously agreed to use her beta superpowers on another one of my fictions! I failed to mention this at the starting gate...totally my bad! 
> 
> So hear ye, hear ye! Thank you Writingwife83, my wonderful beta! You're always encouraging and sweet and make this fanfiction thing so much more fun to do!
> 
> Secondly, thank you for the wonderful comments, guys! Those also stoke the creative fires and make it a blast to do!

...............................................

John frowned as he read the text that interrupted the disheartening task of sorting through the rubble of 221B.

 

**Hi John, it’s Molly…new #. I’ll explain later, but please don’t share this with Sherlock. I don’t want him to have it. If you need help with Rosie, let me know -MH**

 

He glanced up just as Sherlock pulled out a somewhat charred bison skull and its earphones; quickly pocketing his phone he turned his back to continue the salvage effort.

 

“Who was that?” Sherlock mumbled softly, as he re-united the unusual pair and set it against the wall.

 

John looked back with his brow raised. “Huh? Oh…”

 

Sherlock was bent over digging through a pile as he glanced up at his friend’s hesitation and observed him more closely.

 

John knew there was no chance in hiding Molly’s call. Clearing his throat he scowled at the sooty floors.

 

“It was Molly.” Their eyes locked as the detective straightened up to full height. 

 

For an instant he stood motionless, just staring at him. There was something in his expression that John couldn’t label, but it quickly faded as he slowly turned his attention to the debris around them.

 

Since Sherrinford there was much to sort out…physically, relationally and emotionally. One of the first things Sherlock did was to reach out to Molly. He quickly realized however, that her mobile # was useless and that Doctor Hopper was officially on sabbatical leave from the morgue. He seriously considered invading her flat, but John wasn’t convinced it was the wisest course. 

 

_“She may just need a bit of space, mate. You probably shouldn’t risk upsetting her any more then she already is, yeah? If she doesn’t get in touch in a couple of days, I’ll go around for a visit.”_

 

That was exactly 2 days ago. 

 

They worked silently until Mrs. Hudson came up with a tea tray and biscuits. Pulling up a few chairs that were relatively unscathed, they sat and ate until John ended the oppressive quiet.

 

“You okay?”

 

Sherlock remained expressionless as he munched on his chocolate digestive. He took two sips of his tea before setting the cup down and glanced at his friend.

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

John’s eyes grew fractionally larger, not expecting that level of candor from the man. Not replying straight off, he contemplated his response.

 

_I wish Mary were here. She’d know what to do._

 

He let out a sigh that prompted Sherlock to meet his gaze.

 

Frowning, he searched John’s face and eventually shifted his eyes to what were once the windows.

 

“You’re right…”

 

John waited.

 

“She _would_ know what to do.”

 

His stomach tightened at what he knew was a reference to his late wife. His brow furrowed as he examined the bottom of his empty cup before putting it down.

 

“Yeah, well…” Clearing his throat again, he got up and walked closer to the partially exploded wall.

 

“Molly needs to know the truth, Sherlock. And since she’s not talking to you, I better be the one to do it…as soon as possible, I think.”

 

He glanced over to see the detective leaning with his elbows on his knees and his hands folded together, half obscuring his face. 

 

He looked lost. 

 

A surge of empathy spurred John to walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“It’ll be alright, mate. She’ll forgive you…eventually.”

 

Sherlock got to his feet and met John’s eyes. The doctor saw a heartache rarely revealed, even to his best friend. He was surprised, but tried to hide it. He maintained the eye contact until Sherlock looked down at the floor.

 

_He’s really gutted!_

 

Suddenly the truth hit him, hard and fast like the drone-bomb that had so recently gone off right where they stood. 

 

_My god, he loves her…he REALLY loves her._

 

Shock settled on the man’s face; his mouth gaping as the realization crystalized. The moment passed and John once again tooled his expression into one more appropriate…not at all prepared to discuss the revelation.

 

Sherlock raised his troubled and unfocused stare.

 

“I’m not entirely sure she _should_ forgive me, John.”


	3. Remedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Just wanted to say thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos! I love to get them!
> 
> Also, all hearts and unicorns to my fab beta, Writingwife83 for all her awesomeness!
> 
> So yes, angst ahead. Hang with me people!

His Mind Palace was not the refuge it once was.

 

When _life_ threatened the mastery of his control or at least the perception of it, he would make his escape to what had been a place of order and very often where he found much needed answers…a sanctuary of sorts.

 

But _now…_ well, it was anything but.

 

It more closely resembled an interior from an MC Escher lithograph or a scene from the silent film _Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari._

 

Memories that were once fact were now apparently fiction and those shadowy, vague images that he always viewed as the fancies of an extraordinary mind were now suspect of being something more.

 

He had to sort it…somehow.

 

At the moment however, his _palace_ was the last place he wanted to be. 

 

Yet that very night, after John and Rosie’s departure, he sat down, ready to face the proverbial skeletons in the closets. He started at the front door…which in itself was telling. Typically he’d find himself in the middle of a desired room, but obviously his subconscious had other ideas. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and opened the door.

 

And the first thing he saw was Molly Hooper’s coffin.

 

On what appeared to be impulse, Sherlock did an immediate turnabout. And before he was able to fortify himself, to his horror as he twisted around, there was another one, right in the middle of the cobble walkway. 

 

In response, the man emerged so forcefully from the scene he almost flung himself out of his chair. Blinking rapidly, Sherlock’s gaze shifted from side to side, willing his pulse to return to it’s normal rhythm.

 

“What the hell was that?” he barked out loud, to no-one in particular. He raked his long fingers over his face, reminding him of his neglected shave.

 

“For god’s _sake_ ,” he grumbled from behind his hands before jumping angrily to his feet and began to pace from pure indignation. He couldn’t help feeling utterly betrayed by his own brain; at the same time he realized the sooner he dealt with it, the better.

 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he plopped back into his chair and tried his best to prepare himself.

 

“Once more unto the breach,” he whispered before closing his eyes.

 

Immediately he found himself, not at the front door, but at Sherrinford…in the coffin room.

He inhaled sharply from the spike of anxiety he felt, but recovered quickly as he felt himself shift into ‘soldier’ mode.

 

“Hello, Sherlock.” 

 

His eyes widened as he turned around to see his sister standing behind him.

 

“Eurus,” was his only response.

 

They stood for a moment just staring at each other.

 

“You’re planning to come see me soon,” she stated softly, without inflection.

 

He looked into his sister’s face; a small smile briefly emerged before glancing down as he clasped his hands behind his back.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You know, I will not talk to you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Sherlock raised his eyes to meet hers once again. “I won’t be there to talk.”

 

He saw a slight, almost imperceivable change in her expression, one of curiosity, wonder and perhaps a bit of hope.

 

“So why are we here, Sherlock?” Eurus began to circle him slowly.

 

Resisting the urge to rotate in order to keep her in his sights; he attempts to focus on her query.

 

“I believe you know the answer to that question better than I,” he answered, his irritation growing by the second.

 

As she rounded back, they locked eyes again and she stopped, facing him only centimeters away.

 

She was amused.

 

“Mmm, I do indeed. So let’s get to it then, shall we?” she said with a gleam in her eye.

 

Suddenly the whole room tilted and spun, forcing the detective to all fours just to find his equilibrium. 

 

When he looked up, he saw himself. 

 

Panic threatened to surface as he realized _when_ he was. The moment of the ‘phone call’. 

 

Attempting to steady his breathing, he climbed to his feet.  And before he had a chance to react, the frozen moment began to play out.

 

“You say it. You say it first…say it like you mean it.”

 

“I…I love you…

 

…I love you.” 

 

At the very moment when the words fell from Sherlock’s mouth a second time, the scene stilled once more.

 

His eyes glued to his own visage, he could see Eurus approaching from the periphery.

 

“Deduce him,” she ordered in a calm tone.

 

She could see the flexing of his jaw as he deliberated her request, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him.

 

Then slowly his brain began to work at it’s clinical best. He took stock of the man, weighing all available evidence, momentarily disconnected from the emotional turmoil. And he concluded that in that very instant, said individual was not experiencing panic or stress, but instead his expression exhibited a brief moment of… _revelation_.

 

The spell was suddenly broken, and the full impact of his findings hit him like a slap on the face. 

 

Abruptly he turned his back, facing the wall and clinching both fists. His wide eyes frantically scanning, trying his best to reach a different verdict.

 

He jumped as he heard his own voice speak again. This time there _was_ panic.

 

“Molly! Molly _please_ …”

 

Sherlock turned to the large screen just in time to see Molly as she clutched the phone to her face with both hands.

 

“I love you.”

 

Time stopped once more.

 

He could feel his chest tighten as he observed the pain etched into Molly’s expression.

 

Tearing his gaze away, it settled on the image of himself again, bowed head in hands. He remembered the anguished relief that swept over him.

 

Unrelenting, the scene resumed…

 

“I won! I saved Molly Hooper!

 

The screen suddenly changed to Eurus.

 

“Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy? You didn’t win. You lost.”

 

“STOP! …NO MORE!” he yelled, desperately wanting to terminate the play-back.

 

The scene stops, freezing Mind Palace Sherlock as he turned away, with his own pain threatening to surface.

 

He stepped closer to his motionless self. His thoughts bore down like a freight train…mercilessly revealing the painful facts that were outing themselves…one by one. He recalled the overwhelming sense of failure and felt every inch the loser his sister proclaimed him to be. 

 

He found no solace that Molly was never in danger. To be true, it made him feel worse. There was no redemptive purpose behind this vivisection. Nothing that he can take comfort in to excuse the pain he caused. Because he _didn’t_ save her. 

 

But _she_ always did. Always. The one chance he had to repay her and he failed. 

 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut against the brutal reasoning, slowly lowering himself to the floor. He sat with his back against the wall, very similar to the first time, except the coffin still sat undisturbed in the center of the room. He heard who he thought was Eurus moving in front of him. When he opened his eyes, the very sight caused him to gasp.

 

There sat Mary, with her legs crossed, her hands folded serenely in her lap. and a sweet, if notslightly cheeky smile on her face. 

 

The detective and the former assassin stared at each other this way, taking the moment to remember that he was indeed in a place where dead people freely roam.

 

“Sherlock…” Mary tilted her head and gave him her “you’re a total git” look.

 

Immediately his eyes filled with genuine tears as he cracked a big grin. This woman was exactly who he needed, but he couldn’t help feel a twinge of guilt…knowing there were two others who needed her even more.

 

“Mary,” he whispered hoarsely, blinking to clear his blurred vision.

 

“You look like hell, you know that?” she quipped with a throaty laugh and a wink.

 

He drank in every detail of her, realizing just how much he missed his friend.

 

Since her passing he had not summoned her image once, knowing it wouldn’t help him move on. But _this_ , he needed this…her brash honesty and humor…her audacious tenacity to protect the people she loved. 

 

Her smile faded slightly as she searched his face.

 

“What are you doing, Sherlock?”

 

His open expression clouded a bit.

 

“I hardly know,” he uttered softly, sounding uncharacteristically lost.

 

Mary frowned as she reached out and clasped his hand. He looked down and immediately responded to her touch, holding hers in return.

 

“It’s…” he paused, his brow furrowed as he gathered his thoughts. “…disquieting when one’s own mind can’t be trusted.”

 

Mary looked back dead serious as she spoke, “Well, believe it right now…don’t do what you’re considering. It won’t make it better, Sherlock…not for her and definitely not for you.”

 

“But…isn’t it… what true friends do? Sacrifice…like what you…” his voice trailed off, not being able to finish; he swallowed hard.

 

Mary’s stern expression softened and she slowly shifted to her knees. She released his hand, but leaned closer.

 

“It’s not the same, Sherlock…that was a clear, split-second choice…not just for you, but for both of you. John couldn’t lose you again…not like that. Besides…” she said pausing. “I’ve taken many lives…high time to save a couple.”

 

He raised his head to meet her gaze. “No greater love than this… that a man lay down his life for his friend,” he said with a ghost of a smile, trying to hide the ache in his heart.

 

She searched his face, her own eyes darkening from the hurt she saw there.

 

“You can’t just walk away from her. It’s not that simple.”

 

Sherlock stiffened his back against the wall. There was resistance in his stare as he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

 

“It _is_ simple. I cause her pain. The surest  _cure_... remove myself from the equation.”

 

“Rubbish!”

 

His gaze snapped down to meet her now angry one.

 

His eyes having lost all emotion, he said, “I _will_ do it…if that’s what it takes to protect her.”

 

"You’re _completely_ daft, if you think turning your back on her will _not_ cause her pain!”

 

He sprang to his feet and began to pace, not at all used to his reasoning being questioned or made suspect.

 

She watched him for a second, before shaking her head and also getting to her feet. She walked to the center of the room, where the coffin sat.

 

“Listen to me, Sherlock,” she urged in a low voice with her back turned. “Before John…could you tell your arse from your elbow when it came to relationships?

 

“It wasn’t my area.”

 

“ _Buut_ …what happened?”

 

“I learned.”

 

“You let him in.”

 

“Like I said, I learned.”

 

Mary turned abruptly; halting his pace.

 

“You learned that _alone_ didn’t protect you and it won’t protect Molly. She’s not some _wounded fawn_ that needs safeguarding and you’re not the big, bad wolf you think you are.” 

 

Mary’s mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.

 

“Love…” she began, capturing his stormy eyes once more at the use of the word. “…rarely make sense. Sometimes it works when it shouldn’t…flies in the face of logic and self-preservation.’ 

 

His mind flashed to Mycroft and his attempt at ‘being kind.’

 

‘Sometimes…you’re better _together_ then apart. This is true for you and John, yeah? Let me ask you this…What did you once say Molly deserved?”

 

Sherlock blinked twice before answering.

 

“To…be happy.”

 

“Do you still believe this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What did she always want...the one thing you thought you didn’t even have in your power to give.” 

 

Mary’s eyes widened with expectation.

 

“What do I have that she could need?” he breathed, a shadow dimming the light in his eyes. 

 

She smiled as her hands reached out to cover his clenched fists that hung by his sides.

 

“Your heart, Sherlock…your heart.”

 

The skin above his nose crinkled as his brain labored over her words…grinding slowly to it’s inevitable conclusion.

 

“ _If_ you both turn your backs on each other now, the pain you feel here…” she said, placing her hand over his heart. “...will only get worse and it will spread like a virus until every room in this place has one of those,” she stated, gesturing to the coffin next to them.

 

His eyes migrated to where the cursed thing sat.

 

His mind grappled with the long-held belief that romantic love was a weakness. To even go as far as to label it a disease. 

 

He thought about Irene Adler and his victory over her, but then John’s impassioned words echoed, asserting how privileged he was to have had Mary’s love. How he let it drive him to become the better person _she_ always saw, knowing that he didn’t deserve it, but valued it all the more. 

 

Should he consider what he had always discounted as weakness to be a viable option for stability and strength in his life? Could the tragedy of unrequited love finally be remedied by walking through the one door he thought would surely be their ruination?

 

No sooner had he allowed the question to form than the door opened and he was bombarded with flashback after flashback of Molly doing what she did best…loving him through her actions…helping, fixing, slapping, and saving him.

 

And when the dizzying images faded he found himself standing in the middle of a room with glowing walls of soft light.

 

His hands hovered over either side of his face, as if still trying to fully comprehend what just happened.

 

Sherlock blinked several times before he was able to focus on the figure in front of him.

 

It was Molly Hooper.

 

They faced each other, with their eyes locked, unwavering. Sherlock knew that this was his crossroads. With revelation comes the precipice of choice. 

 

The hour of decision. 

 

Her features were placid, but he could see the churning of conflicting emotion in her brown eyes. 

 

The eyes he had always carefully avoided losing himself in…until now.

 

He took one tentative step closer to Mind Palace Molly…his brain ignited thoughts and possibilities both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

 

He took a deep breath, fighting a sudden wave of lightheadedness.

 

Picking up on a change, she searched his face and then did something unexpected.

 

She took a step back.


	4. Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Sorry for the rather long wait on this. But good news...both chapters are essentially done, so there will not be a long wait from this point on.
> 
> As always, thank you, WritingWife83 for your help and encouragement! You're wonderful!

.......

  

John sat across from Molly, silently watching her, holding a long emptied mug on his knee. He had just finished telling her everything. He was secretly dreading it, not particularly eager to rehash the horrors of Sherrinford and the back-story on Eurus, at least the parts concerning him. 

 

But he discovered talking to Molly was actually therapeutic. He even found himself sharing some of the pain and guilt connected to it all. There was no judgement in her big brown eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks and onto his jumper.

 

He resolved to think twice about calling a therapist next time. He’d just ring Molly up instead and he told her so, resulting in a sweet, if not slightly self-conscious smile.

 

That changed however, when he began recounting Sherrinford. The shock and disbelief was expressed through short gasps, and Molly covering her face to hide the anguish she felt for those poor people. 

 

It was not for the faint of heart…recalling the moment they walked into the room with the coffin. He told her everything…although nothing he said could fully capture the level of distress they faced. And when he eventually shared how Sherlock turned the gun on himself to save John and Mycroft, Molly’s wide eyes filled with tears that fell in heavy drops when she squeezed them shut, as if to protect herself from what she was hearing.

 

So there he was, trying to ascertain where the detective stood in her good graces without actually asking her. He cleared his throat, when she suddenly asked if he wanted more tea.

 

“Oh no, I’m good, thanks.”

 

She forced a smile and a quick nod before turning her attention back to her own empty cup in her lap. After a moment she glanced up through her lashes.

 

“Is um…” she started, John’s brow raised in attention.

 

“How is…he doing? Sherlock, I mean.”

 

He almost sighed and smiled in relief at the question, but he contained his reaction to just answering her the best he could.

 

“He’s um…okay, I guess…all things considered.” 

 

_This is not getting us anywhere, is it?_

 

_“_ You know, Molly…he tried calling…after—to apologize.”

 

Her eyes became suddenly guarded and her gaze dropped to her lap again.

 

She gave a little nod before getting up, gesturing to his cup. “You sure about the tea?”

 

“Oh, yeah…no, I’m fine,” he said, surrendering his mug. 

 

He watched as she went into the kitchen to put the vessels in the sink. Her head bowed for an instant, as if she were trying hard to gather herself. She returned to where he sat, standing there with a carefully crafted pleasant expression.

 

He looked at her, willing himself not to blurt out “The git _is_ in love with you…really!!!”

 

But he knew it wasn’t his place to say and he didn’t get the sense that she’d actually believe it. 

 

Now however, she needed time to digest everything she’d heard.

 

So John stood up with a weary smile and met her eyes, finding a genuine one in return.

 

“You going to be all right?” he asked.

 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she replied with sad laugh, trying hard not to cry.

 

“Can I see Rosey soon?” she asked, switching to a safer subject.

 

“Yeah, of course. Maybe Friday for a couple of hours?” They both nodded in agreement as he headed for the door.

 

“Molly…” he turned suddenly, obviously surprising her. “Sorry, just one more thing… about Sherlock.”

 

He was relieved to see her open expression albeit slightly anxious as she appeared to be biting the inside of her cheek.

 

_Time to take the kid gloves off._

 

“He’s…been gutted…actually. Especially in his mind… _re-evaluating_ pretty much everything he’s known. And…” John paused, his gaze wandered before finding hers again and resumed in a voice somewhat lower. 

 

“He’s had to face certain…truths and I think there’s going to be…changes. Good ones, I mean. Just wanted you to know.” He hesitated again, searching her eyes, almost willing her to understand without having to say the words. If she caught his drift, she wasn’t letting on. 

 

He smiled with a brief nod before turning and walking through the open threshold.

 

She followed him out the door and when he gave her a departing peck on the cheek he saw the concern etched on her features, inspiring one final push.

 

“Look, Molls, I know you’ve been through a lot with Sherlock; believe me I know. But now that you have the backstory…” 

 

Her eyes immediately snapped to the ground and her jaw jut out slightly in resistance. He could sense an internal battle.

 

“Hey…” John’s voice softened and he touched her arm, reclaiming her eyes. “Just think about it, that’s all,” he added with a brief smile and a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder.

 

Tentatively Molly returned the smile and a quick nod as he turned to go. She watched him with a clouded expression before going back inside.

 

….....

 

 Mrs. Hudson greeted John as he opened the front door.

 

“Hi, Rosey sleeping then?” asking with an inquiring look.

 

“No—over-tired, I think. I walked her for a long while, but she was having none of it. Luckily Sherlock came down and took over. Would you believe she settled right down, the darling. I guess he has the knack today…they’re upstairs, dear.”

 

“Okay, thanks. I’ll just go…” he smiled gesturing above him. The older lady grinned and gave a fluttering hand motion before heading towards the kitchen.

 

John found his daughter fast asleep on Sherlock’s shoulder as the detective slowly paced to and fro.

 

“Hey,” John whispered, catching a quick glance as he walked to the other end of the sitting room.

 

He also noticed that there were new windows and plaster board, making the space appear almost livable again.

 

They locked eyes as Sherlock rounded back in his direction and then stopped in front of him.

 

“Why don’t you lay her in the car seat,” John suggested.

 

“Mmm…in another 2 minutes, just to be sure,” he replied before resuming his pace. 

 

John nodded to his back and watched them in silence, but when they turned once more he could see the question in the detective’s eyes, who immediately picked up on his friend’s hesitation. 

 

“She needs a bit of time, Sherlock.”

 

The man blinked slowly once before continuing his turn about the room, this time with his eyes to the floor.

 

“I did my best to tell her everything,” he said quietly, lowering himself into his chair as he rubbed his tired face. “She was horrified…naturally. Shocked about Eurus…like the rest of us.”

 

Sherlock gently laid Rosamund in her car seat undisturbed, then sat opposite, with his elbows on his knees and with a searching stare.

 

After a minute John began drumming his fingers on the armrest until he let out a huffing sigh.

 

“Look…you need to be patient, mate.”

 

The detective maintained his gaze in silence before giving a small nod.

 

Noticing his friend’s increasingly stormy eyes, John frowned.

 

“What?”

 

Breaking their eye contact Sherlock swallowed hard before opening his mouth slightly, struggling to get the words out.

 

“I’ve…come to a realization.”

 

John’s eyes narrowed, studying his face for a second before he finally understood. 

 

The good doctor found himself in the unusual position of having worked something out _before_ the great detective and although tempted to gloat, he knew it would be a bit not good. 

 

Instead he just came out with it.

 

“You mean the fact that you really _are_ in love with Molly?”

 

At hearing those words Sherlock’s eyes grew fractionally larger, but he didn’t answer right away.

 

His jaw twitched for a second before responding in a whisper, “Yes.”

 

John looked down at his hands with a decided nod. “Good…that’s good.”

 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed instantly.

 

“It is?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“How?”

 

The corners of John’s eyes crinkled. “How bout, it’s a good first step then.”

 

His incredulous scowl morphed into one more ponderous as he steepled his hands in front of his face.

 

“First step into what, I wonder.”

 

John threaded a hand through his hair as he considered his friends options. These were deep waters for the detective. Yes, the situation with Eurus was mind-bending, but it was still a puzzle to be solved, totally within his wheelhouse.

 

This was not.

 

He could sense the conflicting emotions brewing just under the surface; the battle between head and heart. He recalled when there was barely a word between the two. He’d come a long way.

 

The twinge of pride he felt gave way to concern when he remembered the conversation with Molly.

 

Has she been pushed too far this time? 

 

The ‘what ifs’ continued to loom until he pushed them aside, instead opting to ask the more burning question.

 

“So…how’d you manage to come to this… _realization?_

 

Sherlock was still, staring at his friend from behind his poised fingers, contemplating his response before getting up to look out the window.

 

“I had some guidance”, he said softly, looking down at the bustle of London.

 

“What guidance?”

 

Sherlock turned and stood silently staring at John, uncertain if he should proceed.

 

“What?” he urged, sensing his hesitation.

 

“It was Mary…in my mind palace.”

 

John sat motionless, expression unchanged, slowly processing what was said.

 

Sherlock returned to his chair slowly, with John’s eyes following him as he went.

 

The doctor dragged his eyes to the floor before finding his voice again.

 

“That’s…interesting,” he said with a tempered tone, as Sherlock watched with risingconcern.

 

Not knowing what to say, he said what he felt.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

This prompted John’s immediate reaction. “No, there’s nothing…” 

 

With a knitted brow he hung his head for a moment as he spread his hands on the armrests of the chair.

 

“No…” he looked up poignantly. “It’s…good, actually,” he said with a reassuring nod. “I’m glad she could help.” His mind raced with thoughts of a confession of his own. “She’s…helped me too,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Sherlock’s features shadowed in confusion. 

 

Catching his friend’s reaction, John sighed before elaborating.

 

“I’ve seen her, talked with her, especially early on. She was just…there, doing what she’s always done.”

 

Sherlock blinked several times before his eyes scanned the room around them.

 

“Is…she here now?” he asked in a low voice.

 

John smiled widely and shook his head.

 

“No, mate. I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks.”

 

Sherlock gave him a quick smile and a nod. “She…was special.”

 

“Yes, she was…” he agreed with watery eyes. “Won’t be another like her.”

 

Just as John spoke those words, little Rosamund stirred in her seat, giving a big sleepy yawn before settling back into her slumber.

 

The two men glanced down at the precious bundle and then back at each other.

 

With shining eyes, Sherlock beat John to it when he said, “That may _not_ be entirely true.”

 

 …….

 

 “Good Evening, Doctor Hooper.”

 

It took a moment before Molly fully realized that Mycroft Holmes was standing at her door. To say she was stunned would be an understatement.

 

“I promise not to take too much of your time.”

 

She blinked twice before stepping back to allow the man and his umbrella to enter.

 

“Tea, Mycroft?” she asked, leading them back through the house towards the small kitchen.

 

“No, thank you,” he replied with a tight smile. “Like I said, I’ll be but a minute or two.”

 

Responding with a small nod she still put the kettle on and walked back to the sitting room where Mycroft stood waiting.

 

Her dealings with Sherlock’s older brother had been brief and sporadic over the past 5 years or so. In most instances they followed the detective’s fake suicide. To see him now was unexpected, indeed.

 

“I believe I have something that would be of interest to you.”

 

Molly’s brow furrowed slightly as Mycroft looping his umbrella onto his forearm, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out something small.

 

It was a memory stick.

 

“No doubt the events at Sherrinford have been relayed to you during Doctor Watson’s recent visit.”

 

Molly opened her mouth to respond, but the man continued unabated.

 

“This contains some of the video feed from that day. Don’t worry, it doesn’t contain any of the…deaths. Just the moments concerning you and my brother.”

 

Mycroft’s formal, no nonsense manner would ordinarily be off-putting to the pathologist. But there was something in the man’s eyes that caused her to overlook it…Molly saw pain.

 

Her gaze traveled to the proffered device, but hesitated in taking it from him,

 

“Why would I subject myself to this for a second time, Mycroft?” she asked with a soft, but firm voice.

 

Standing with his arm extended, he considered her words.

 

“Perhaps because it would prove to be…enlightening.” 

 

He lowered his reach before continuing.

 

“I am aware of your special talent regarding my brother, Doctor Hooper. Where Sherlock succeeds in fooling the masses, you seem to be inexplicably immune. 

 

And with respect to my sister’s…actions, since you’ve been unfortunately targeted, a full explanation is in order and until now you’ve had only Doctor Watson’s, forgive me, obtuse perspective. This opportunity doesn’t often present itself, so I strongly suggest you take advantage and watch this. You know what they say…” Mycroft lifted his arm once more. 

“… _seeing_ is believing.” 

 

Molly searched the older man’s face and saw a softness that wasn’t there before.

 

She blinked twice before lowering her gaze to the offering and after another moment she took it from his hand.

 

With a micro expression of mild relief he walked back to her door and stepped outside. Before taking his leave Mycroft turned to give her a surprisingly sincere smile and said, “Thank you Doctor…for everything.” 

 

And with that, he was gone.


	5. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are- last chapter!
> 
> Want to give an extra shout out of thanks for all your lovely comments. Hearing what you guys think means an awful lot, so feel free to share more of your thoughts!
> 
> And Lastly...my heartfelt appreciation to my awesome Beta, Writingwife83, who definitely needs to rein me in sometimes...brevity is not my forte! XD 
> 
> That being said, I'll stop, so you can read! 
> 
> Hope you Enjoy it!

.......

 

A random play-list ran on her mobile as Molly paced the length of her sitting room, holding a half empty bottle of water, as she glanced up every so often to the frozen image on her laptop. If Sherlock were present, he would have concluded that she was just a little bit stressed. Ever since first viewing the Sherrinford video her pulse seemed to be perpetually elevated.

 

Taking an aggressive swig of water, her eyes snapped again to meet the gaze of the detective, halted at the moment when his eyes were wide with emotion. Her forehead crinkled in nervous agitation as she stopped in front of the screen. She stood here, looking back transfixed, beginning to feel like she too were stuck, until she became aware of the words being sung in the background:

 

_…But there's a reason that the road is long_

_It takes some time to make your courage strong_

 

_Hold on tight a little longer_

_What don't kill ya, makes ya stronger_

_Get back up, 'cause it's a hard love_

_You can't change without a fallout_

_It's gon' hurt, but don't you slow down_

_Get back up, 'cause it's a hard love…._

 

She could feel her stomach muscles tighten as she listened to the lyrics. She was so close to giving up and closing down. She had every reason to walk away…every reason to quit the man entirely. 

 

She was ashamed to admit even thinking about leaving London…just to get away from him. To walk away from a job, a city and the friends she loved…just to avoid Sherlock Bloody Holmes. God knows she needed to do more than just change her phone number to successfully eliminate him from her life. And in truth, she may have gone through with it… _if_ …it hadn’t been for this. Even John’s heartfelt petitions for his friend could not affect her as deeply as this had. To actually be _eyewitness_ to the words she heard. The words that indeed sounded sincere, but were uttered by a man who could easily win an Oscar for his duplicity. 

 

She would never have allowed herself to believe Sherlock’s declaration of love was real…if she hadn’t actually _seen_ him say it. 

 

And Mycroft must have known that to be true or he would never have given her the video feed.

 

Molly turned away pinching the bridge of her nose. She let out a harsh breath before collapsing onto her sofa and began rubbing her aching temples.

 

_Oh, it's a hard love, it's a hard love, it's a hard love…_

 

 

 

…………………..

 

 

 

Sherlock languidly sat in his chair, having nodded off into a much needed slumber, when there was a sudden knock on his door.

 

The unexpected sound jolted him into consciousness and onto his feet. Disoriented, he moved to the door and yanked it open.

 

The detective stood motionless with a rather comical look of disbelief…face to face with Molly Hooper.

 

Silently standing in the threshold she watched him; her amusement to his shock revealed only in the slightest of smiles.

 

“Molly…” he whispered after regaining the ability to speak.

 

“Hello, Sherlock.”

 

“I didn’t hear you…must have dozed off,” he frowned, rubbing his neck as she entered, closing the door behind her.

 

“Obviously, you would have known me by my footsteps, no doubt,” she said, turning to look up into his confused face.

 

“Presumptively…” he mumbled in his low baritone.

 

Their eye contact was broken as she took stock of their surroundings.

 

“Wow…” she said amazed, walking into the sitting room. “That…wall,” gazing at the noticeable replacement.

 

“Our escape route, actually,” he replied with a small smile, as she looked back totally stunned.

 

“It’s much improved,” he assured, feeling his nerves rise as she stepped closer to him.

 

Searching for appropriate words as their eyes locked in a tense moment, Sherlock said the first thing that popped into his head.

 

“Tea?” he asked a bit too eagerly.

 

She smiled. “Don’t need any tea right now,” she said as she sat down.

 

He hovered a moment more. 

 

“What about a glass of wine…I think I have a bottle somewhere,” recalling with a slight scowl.

 

“No thanks, maybe later.”

 

Sherlock lowered himself into the chair opposite, inwardly trying to quiet his unease.

 

“It’s not like you to fall asleep in your chair. You must be exhausted,” she said, trying her best not to appear overly concerned.

 

His expression turned thoughtful as he recalled the past week.

 

“I’ve flown out to Sherrinford everyday this week.”

 

Molly’s eyes grow wide. “Oh…”

 

He could tell she had a multitude of unasked questions about his sister, but she kept them to herself.

 

So instead, he volunteered the information, mainly to distract himself from other potentially volatile topics.

 

“She doesn’t talk to me, at least not in actual words. So I bring my violin.” 

 

He saw Molly’s immediate fascination and smiled. 

 

“She didn’t join me until today…it may sound strange, but we manage a level of communication through the music.”

 

“Then she plays too.”

 

“Yes…she’s the one who taught _me_ to play, apparently,” he said in a small voice and a faraway look.

 

Molly’s neutral demeanor began to fade as her brow crinkled in concern. She was just starting to glimpse what John meant by ‘being gutted’. 

 

His carefully controlled inner sanctum was now compromised. The retreat he once relied on was essentially in tatters. Restoration needed to happen and Baker Street was just the beginning.

 

Shifting her attention to the room once more, something on the mantle caught her eye and she got up to examine it more closely, causing Sherlock to follow suit.

 

Her hand gently touched the calvarium of the partially scorched skull.

 

“Could have faired worse…at least he’s in one piece,” he said softly.

 

Molly continued to scrutinize the cranium, tilting her head slightly.

 

“I don’t know, I think it gives him added character somehow. He’s much more interesting this way,” she commented, meeting his eyes with a half smile.

 

As their eye contact lingered, Sherlock began to feel a strange warmth in his chest. He was beginning to grasp how much he truly enjoyed this quirky pathologist and her unique perspective.

 

Molly eyes grew slightly as she watched him.

 

“What?” she asked in a quiet tone.

 

Barely missing a beat he answered, “Wine,” attempting to screen his thoughts, recalling just how transparent he was in her presence.

 

“You can do with a glass now, couldn’t you?” he asked as he moved into the kitchen.

 

“Well, not really…but it seems you could,” she quipped as she turned to watch him fetch the bottle and glasses.

 

“I’ll just pour you a half…you wouldn’t want me to drink alone,” he said ignoring her comment. 

 

A moment later he returned with the wine and they stood rather awkwardly with the glasses in their hands.

 

“A toast?” she asked suddenly.

 

His brow furrowed as he considered her request.

 

“John usually does that sort of thing.”

 

“What about…” she said softly, pausing briefly in hesitation, Molly’s expression became increasingly searching, her eyes totally capturing his, like a spotlight on his soul.

 

“To clarity.”

 

Sherlock stood motionless, stunned at her suggestion, yet completely intrigued as to the reasoning behind her choice.

 

“I’m…puzzled, Molly. Why _clarity._ ” Feeling like by just asking the question he past a point of no return.

 

Her gaze was unwavering and strong, yet he saw a sweet compassion there which seemed to blast away the last of his defenses.

 

“Deduce me, “ she stated simply. 

 

His frown deepened in confusion.

 

“You’re _asking_ me to deduce you?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

With reservation he attempted to find the usual tells, not at all comfortable with the idea. But as the seconds pass he became increasingly frustrated at the lack of useful information.

 

“Would you like a clue?” she asked with a straight face.

 

His eyes narrowed a bit at her suggestion.

 

“We’re not playing ‘Cluedo’, Molly Hooper.”

 

“I agree. Your brother came to my flat earlier this week.”

 

Her unexpected statement threw him for a moment.

 

“Why would Myc—” 

 

Halting in mid-sentence, the pieces started falling into place and his brain began to work out the deduction. 

 

Placing his wine glass on the mantle he turned and sank into his chair, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him.

 

Molly did the same, watching him all the while. As she sat down, his eyes snapped to hers with an intensity that made her knees weak.

 

“Mycroft gave you the video feed from Sherrinford.”

 

Captured by his kaleidoscope eyes, she only nodded in response.

 

His brain whirled ahead, leading to inescapable conclusions as he studied her face.

 

“You saw me.”

 

Molly’s eyes seemed to glow as he spoke.

 

“You…must know…”

 

Sherlock’s eyes sparked with anticipation, waiting for her to react.

 

“I do,” she said with a quiet grit that drove the detective to do what he did next.

 

Moving quickly, he knelt in front of her, closing the space between them, his hands resting on the arms of her chair, his legs touching her knees.

 

He was suddenly very close and she instinctively straightened her back to put a bit more space between them.

 

Her mind and her heart began to race. In as much as she had always wanted more, was she prepared for this? Should she throw all caution and self-preservation to the wind? Did she _really_ believe that he could change? When she decided to come to Baker St., she thought she did. 

 

But right now he was physically closer then he’d ever been before. They were in uncharted waters and the risks were high. She could see the apprehension in his eyes, yet there he was.

 

Sherlock licked his lips and lowered his gaze in order to gather his thoughts, all the while feeling his heart beat rise. 

 

He didn’t exactly know what he was doing, except reacting to the moment…the moment he knew _she_ knew. She _saw_ him and in spite of everything he had done, she still choose to believe it, to believe in him. He knew that if he didn’t stay focused on Molly, he’d retreat, quite literally…so he focused.

 

“Am…I right to conclude…that you’ve forgiven me?” His eyes reconnected with hers as he asked those last words. 

 

Her chest tightened when she looked back and saw a perfect storm of anxiety, uncertainty and hope. He feared she had given up on him. And maybe for an instant…she had.

 

 

“Yes, Sherlock…I forgive you,” she said with glistening eyes as she drank in the sheer vulnerability of him. 

 

It took her breath away.

 

The simple statement filled the room with electricity and lifted a weight that had settled on his soul. 

 

And in its place he felt a sudden liberty…an openness to speak his heart in a way he had never done before—or ever _wanted_ to do before.

 

“Molly…” 

 

Her eyes went round at the tone his voice. 

 

His hands tightened their grip on the chair as they moved almost imperceptibly closer to each other.

 

He had never felt such a turbulence of emotion. It scared and excited him all at once. 

 

In the past he would have escaped to his Mind Palace to sort it out, but deep down he knew the last thing he needed was to run away from Molly Hooper. 

 

He also knew, thanks in part to their proximity, that he wanted to touch her. 

 

His brow crinkled slightly at this epiphany. And when he searched her big brown eyes, he found himself lowering his own to her parted lips, then back again, feeling a slow burn building in the pit of his stomach.

 

Her breathing quickened as she noticed his gaze, inspiring her to lean further in. 

 

Sherlock swallowed hard, his brain began to spin ferociously, causing him to feel lightheaded. 

 

“First…I want to say— I’m sorry.” 

 

“You don’t need—

 

“YES,” he cut her off, blinking several times in succession, trying to clear his head.

 

“—I do…at least…I want to.” His moist eyes crinkled slightly as he studied her open expression.

 

Slowly he raised an unsteady hand to touch Molly’s cheek, giving in to the overwhelming desire for contact. Her skin was soft and his fingers began to tingle.

 

“And secondly, I want to say this too—without…” He paused to find the right word. 

 

“—provocation.” 

 

“—To say…I’m in love with you, Molly Hooper,” he spoke in almost a whisper, their faces only centimeters apart. “I think I may have loved you for a very—” He was cut short by the rush of her mouth onto his. The feel of her, the taste of her, sharing the same breath of her, froze him.

 

Suddenly it all stopped.

 

The relentless whirling of his thoughts came to quiet bliss as Molly softly moved her lips exquisitely over his, causing him to squeeze his eyes tight and inhale sharply from the sensation, amazed by both the quickening and the stilling—the intoxication and the clarity.

 

In her kisses he felt her whisper that she still trusts and the last of his defenses crumbled into dust; Sherlock began to react. 

 

Gently taking hold of Molly’s face with both hands, his own mouth joined in their slow dance and with the heightening, he quite literally saw sparks fly. 

 

He knew now…that all he needed was right here…she was his true north…his constant and he would do everything and anything not let her down.

 

They stayed like this for a while, before she uttered something totally muffled in his neck and curls.

 

“Hmmm…?” he managed in a low husky tone.

 

Moving her head slightly, so her mouth just touched his ear, she repeated herself in a soft sigh.

 

“I love you too, Sherlock Holmes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics: Hard Love by Needtobreath.
> 
> And if there was a soundtrack or 'closing credit' song...check out "Clear"...also by Needtobreath. Has to be some of the most romantic lyrics I've ever heard and gave me some inspiration for the ending.
> 
> Thanks again for reading and commenting! Long live Sherlolly! \o/

**Author's Note:**

> As I wouldn’t consider this a song-fic per say, Clarity by Zedd played a big part inspiring the chapter titles and the angst-y emotional conflict. And As you’re not required to listen or read the lyrics, I think you’ll enjoy the Sherlolly feels, if you do! ;)


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